


The Place Where Life Begins

by crystalesbian



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach House, F/F, F/M, M/M, Spring Break, Vacation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-23
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3601533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalesbian/pseuds/crystalesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost done with her first year of college, Clarke Griffin finally gets to spend her first spring break on her own at her family's beach house with her best friend. There, she meets Lexa, a local who doesn't take kindly to tourists, but just might be willing to make an exception. They're about to learn that everyone has baggage, and sometimes it's too heavy for just one person to carry.</p><p>The 100 Spring Break au, featuring party animal Clarke Griffin, closed-off townie Lexa, sheltered Octavia who sneaks off to parties while her brother is sleeping, and Raven and Finn who can't decide whether or not they were broken up last spring break, or whether or not they're broken up now. And Wells, who's stuck helping Clarke pick up these idiots' messes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Place Where Life Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings for alcohol usage. But hey, it's spring break, what can you expect?

Clarke Griffin has crossed this bridge many times.

She could probably count the number of times she crossed it this way, if she cared to, but there are a few times that are fuzzy in her brain from when she was too young to remember, and she’d have to ask her parents to confirm, and that is too much unnecessary effort for something that doesn’t really matter anyway.

It doesn’t matter because this might as well be the first time she is crossing this bridge. It is the first time she is crossing this bridge sitting in the front seat and not the back, because her father is not driving and her mother is not in the passenger seat. It is the first time she sees the sign at the end of the bridge, reading “ _Welcome to Weather Beach, Maryland! Population: 2,790_ ”, the sign that has always been there, and feel her heart swell with pure excitement and elation. The feeling bubbles up inside when she sees the sign because the sign means that they are about to be there, and this is the first time she is excited to be there, not to see Wells or to go down to the beach, because Wells is right beside her driving them there, and the beach is finally more than a place where she can get away from her parents. Clarke loves this place. Clarke has always loved this place, only now the love is brand new because they are going to a different place. The same destination on a map that now means something different, something more than luxury or relaxation, but freedom, freedom in its most youthful form, the freedom you feel when you are riding your bicycle without training wheels and your dad, for the first time, lets go of the back of your bike seat and you are gliding, staying upright as you pedal and the pavement in front of you disappears under you.

The long stretch of pavement in front of them grows shorter as it disappears under Wells’s tires and the sign in front of Clarke that she has been fixated on since they started across the bridge rushes behind her. She clicks her seat belt buckle undone, letting her hand guide it back to its place sitting next to her, stretched vertically across the leather seat, and she throws her hands up with gusto, slowly rising out of her seat, a cry of celebration escaping from her throat and rushing backwards into the wind.

Wells looks briefly to his right, tugging Clarke by the side of her tank top back down into her seat. “Easy!” he scolds, mouth turning up in a small smirk. “You’re gonna get yourself killed before we even get there!”

“Do you plan to be a stick-in-the-mud this entire time?” Clarke asks, leaning over and running her hand over his shoulder in what isn’t quite hard enough to be a shove, as she needs him to hold his grip on the steering wheel, but which has the same playfully-teasing sentiment.

“Once we get to the beach, you can drink yourself to death for all I care,” he jokes back with the same good-natured, taunting tone. “Now buckle your seatbelt.”

“Spoken like a true stick-in-the-mud.” But Clarke buckles back up nonetheless. She turns back to watch the trees fly past them until they begin to disappear altogether, their places taken by rows of houses as the car slows. The houses become houses that she recognizes, and they finally stop, Wells pulling the car into the driveway of the beach house their families share.

Clarke jumps out of the car almost immediately, not even bothering to slip on her flip flops before her feet hit the hot pavement. Wells pops the trunk and Clarke pulls her bags out, taking them all in one trip. She waits on the deck as Wells unlocks the house. He opens the door and she follows him inside. The house is hot and stuffy and musty, but Clarke instantly feels refreshed as soon as she walks in the front hallway. There’s a sense of serenity and belonging that accompanies this place. Even more so than the feeling that she belongs here is the feeling that this place belongs to her, now. Her parents and Wells’s dad aren’t here to make sure they get home by curfew or monitor the contents of the liquor cabinet or yell at them for staying up too late and talking too loudly. She is in charge, now.

She sets her phone and her purse down on the kitchen counter and drops her bags in the room that she’d normally share with her parents and then heads back toward the kitchen, opening a high cabinet and feeling around on its shelves with her hands. She huffs, finding it bare. “They emptied it out!” she whines to Wells in the other room.

“I told you they’d do that,” he yells back. “You really think your mom would’ve said yes to you spending a week alone in a house with a full liquor cabinet?” He rounds the corner and pokes his head into the kitchen, giving Clarke an annoyingly disapproving look. “Besides, it’s barely past noon.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t going to start drinking now. I just wanted to see if we had anything for tonight.”

“There’s going to be plenty to drink at the kickoff party and you know it.”

“I do know it.” She shrugs, leaning against the counter. “I don’t suppose you’re going, huh?”

“I might stop by. Keep you out of trouble.”

“Well, what would be the fun in that?” she asks with a laugh.

He grins that exasperated grin that’s reserved only for her. “Anyway, I’m gonna get the air conditioning going, and start unpacking.”

Clarke nods. She’ll unpack her things later tonight, she decides. She walks out into the living room and sits down on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. She leans back, laying down on the carpet, feeling it under her skin. She closes her eyes and clenches the carpet under her hands. There’s something oddly soothing about the feeling, like she’s soaking this place back in again after a year of being away from it. They hadn’t spent any time here the previous summer, as their main vacation that summer was a trip to Europe with their families to celebrate graduating high school and starting college. Not that Clarke was complaining, of course; the trip had been fantastic, and she enjoyed trips with her family and the Jahas no matter where they went, but it wasn’t the same as the comforting bliss of her serene little home away from home.

She breathes in and out, feeling coolness wash around her as the air conditioner whirs to life. A shiver runs down her spine and she turns her head to the side so that her left cheek is pressed against the carpet. After a minute or so of this almost-meditation, she rolls her shoulders and sits up. She slowly rises, pushing herself up and curling her toes. She walks back to her room and gets her fake I.D. out of her suitcase— she doesn’t typically keep it with her so as not to get it mixed up with her real one. “I’m going out!” she calls back to Wells. “And I’ll come back with decent booze!”

“Don’t care, as long as you don’t get arrested!”

She picks her purse and Wells’s keys off the counter. The liquor store isn’t too far away, and if she wanted to, she could probably walk, but she doesn’t want to, so she takes Wells’s car and is back in a few short minutes.

“Clarke!” She’s greeted by Monty Green and Jasper Jordan running at her, both of them reaching her at the same time and lifting her up off her feet in an awkward group hug. They’re both too scrawny for either of them to lift her up on their own. Jasper’s still wearing those goofy goggles on his head that he thinks look cool. It’s comforting to see neither of them have changed much in a year.

“Hey!” She wiggles down and returns the embrace once she’s back on the ground. “What’s up, guys?”

“Clarke Griffin!” Monty’s mother calls from the porch. “It’s been too long! How are you, darling?”

“Doing good, Mrs. Green!”

“Are your parents home?” she asks, coming down the steps. “I want to say hi.”

Clarke shakes her head. “Sorry, they aren’t with us this time around. Since Wells and I are in college now, they trusted us to spend the week here alone.”

“Well, that’s exciting! I trust you to keep these two out of trouble, then.” She ruffles Monty’s hair.

“Mom!” he groans.

Clarke laughs. “I will, Mrs. Green.” She’s got that “parents like and trust me” aura about her that comes naturally. Wells has it too, but Wells is the kind of person parents should like and trust, which is more than Clarke can say for herself. She’s certainly not the worst person to be trusting; she’d go to hell and back to protect her friends, but she also isn’t going to stop any frowned-upon, if not outright illegal activities from happening, within reason. She’s nurturing and responsible, sure, but her reputation is probably more pristine than it should be. She turns back to the boys. “So, you guys are seniors now, right?” They’re both a year below her. “That’s cool.”

Monty shrugs. “It’s still high school. It still sucks. How’s college?”

Clarke laughs. “Way freaking better than high school, I’ll tell you that.”

Once Mrs. Green has disappeared back into the house, Jasper lowers his voice. “Hey, you’re never gonna guess who’s here.”

“Who?”

Monty nudges his head in the direction of the house across the street, the one that has been empty for the past two spring breaks.

“No shit!” Clarke gasps. “The Blakes? Are you kidding me?”

“Nope! We don’t know for how long, but they’re here.”

“We saw a car pull in way early this morning,” Monty says. “It was a different car than they had the last time, but it was definitely them getting out.”

“Well, we gotta pick up Octavia tonight before the party,” Clarke says.

Monty shakes his head. “Her asshole brother won’t like that.”

“Which is why Bellamy doesn’t have to know.” Clarke smirks and gets her bags out of the backseat. “Anyway, I’m gonna go restock the liquor cabinet and then go down to the beach in a bit, if you guys wanna join. See ya.”

As soon as Clarke gets back in the house, she puts away a few bottles in the liquor cabinet and a six pack in the fridge and sets her bag and Wells’s car keys back on the counter next to her phone, then goes back to her room to change into her bikini— a teeny, strappy little thing that she’d bought on clearance in November and been waiting all winter to wear. When she comes out, Wells is sitting on the couch flipping through channels.

“Hey,” he says, looking up. “Did you get any groceries while you were out?”

“No, was I supposed to?”

“I texted you.”

“I left my phone on the counter. I can go out again, if you want.”

“No, you’re already dressed.” he says, getting up off the couch. “Go down to the beach, I can go grocery shopping.”

She bounds over and kisses him on the cheek. “You’re the absolute best, Wells.”

“And don’t you forget it. You have any special requests?”

“Mayo—”

“Ew.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “--Frank’s wing sauce, and a pack of Mexican Cokes.”

“Can do. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He grabs his keys from where she’d left them on the counter and heads out.

“And hey, get _real_ mayonnaise, not that Miracle Whip crap!” she calls after him.

“Got it!”

* * *

“A vacation,” Bellamy calls it. What a joke. Octavia tries not to blame him— she knows it isn’t his fault. It’s not their mom’s fault either. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is no fucking vacation— she’s been locked up one way or another all her life, and this is just a change of scenery, a new place to stay cooped up inside for the time being.

She has missed this bed, though.

Cool sheets. Cool pillow. There are thick layers of dust on every surface that they’re going to clean up tomorrow. Even though this room is stuffy, and it’s a little hard to breathe, there is comfort here. There are bad memories associated with every house she’s ever lived in, but they aren’t as powerful here. The good memories make up for them, at the very least.

Octavia doesn’t have very many good memories.

She had gotten her first kiss in the backyard on damp grass in bare feet. And her second kiss on the same night with a different person, in the house across the street. Both sweet memories, both almost four years ago, the second-to-last spring break before they’d stopped coming.

Bellamy had taught her how to play a countless amount of board games in the living room. Clue, Scrabble, Monopoly— there was a closet full of them in his room, and she wonders for a second if they’re still there. He would always let her win more than half the time, a fact she’d called him out on as soon as she caught onto it. After that, he’d only let her win about a third of the time.

She’d lost her virginity here, on this very bed, in fact. He was some friend of Bellamy’s and as soon as Bell had found out, the guy, Atom, stopped coming over. It didn’t matter, really, because that was the last year they’d come here anyway.

She almost smiles at the memory of Bellamy losing his shit over it, even though it really isn’t a funny memory. Bellamy had very few friends over, not because he didn’t have many, but because he didn’t have many he trusted, meaning Atom must have been someone he trusted, and she’d ruined that.

Still, it’s kind of funny picturing how red in the face he was.

Bellamy is fast asleep, or was the last time she checked, so when she hears a noise coming from the backyard, her first thought is to wonder if that metal bat is still here. She rejects the thought— Bellamy had always kept it in his closet, and she wouldn’t be able to get to it without waking him up by running into his room like a scared little girl, something she’d been making an effort to avoid being seen as for years.

Maybe she imagined the noise. Then she hears it again— followed by a familiar voice whisper-shouting, “Octavia!”

She slowly peels back the curtain.

It has been years, so it takes a few seconds to recognize them, but when she does, a grin spreads across her face; her life begins tonight. “Hell, yes! I knew you goons weren’t going to forget about me.”

Clarke, Monty, and Jasper are smiling up at her from below the balcony connecting her bedroom to Bellamy’s. She opens the sliding glass door as quietly as possible, and peers through Bellamy’s door to make sure he hasn’t woken up. He’s still asleep, so she turns back. “Guys, my mom isn’t here. Bell’s gonna be the one to get in trouble if she finds out I snuck out.”

“How’s she gonna know?” Jasper asks with a smirk.

“Excellent point, Goggles. You’ve sold me.”

“Go get dressed!” Clarke chuckles.

Octavia nods quickly, disappearing and reappearing in no time at all, and climbs down swiftly like she’s done a hundred times before. They hop the fence and meet Clarke’s friend Wells out front, waiting for them in the car. They pile in, Octavia squished in the back between Jasper and Monty. Clarke tosses each of them a water bottle.

“I’ve got more in my bag if you guys need it. Stay hydrated, avoid a hangover. I’ve also got bread. Absorbs alcohol.” Octavia laughs. Even when she’s on her way to get shitfaced at a wild spring break party, Clarke still manages to be such a mom.

As soon as they’re out of the neighborhood, out of earshot of anyone she might know, Octavia stands in her seat and throws up her hands, screaming with triumph and glee, “We’re back, bitches!”

* * *

“I’m definitely scoring this week.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Not with Octavia.”

“What? C’mon!” Jasper looks offended. “I’ve kissed her before, anything can happen!”

“That was spin the bottle in eighth grade, dude. Doesn’t count,” Monty says apologetically. “Plus, she’s even hotter now. I hate to say it, but she’s probably out of your league.”

“I’m hotter now, too!” Jasper protests. “Besides, she’s like, super sheltered, how’s she supposed to know who’s in what league?”

“Man, she’s homeschooled, not blind.”

Jasper glares. “Shut up, Miller.” Monty hides his smile by taking another gulp from his red solo cup.

“Look, Jasper, feel free to go for it,” Clarke says. “Just don’t be too disappointed. She’s not exactly famous for staying in touch, and that’s if you can even manage to do anything together without Bellamy finding out. Plus, she’s not even that great a kisser.”

Jasper gives Clarke a disbelieving look. “Stop trying to make me feel better, we both know that last part is a lie.”

Clarke laughs. “Yeah, it is. What can I say? She learned from the best.”

“I’m gonna get another beer,” Miller says, leaving the group.

“What about you, amigo?” Jasper asks Monty, throwing an arm around him. Monty rolls his eyes. “All these ladies, just waiting for two dashing young men such as ourselves to give them the spring break of their lives. Got your eye on anyone?”

Monty takes another sip of his beer. “Not really.”

“What about Harper?” Clarke asks, sensing the tension. “She’s pretty cute.”

Jasper catches the eye of some vaguely familiar girl whose name Clarke can’t quite place, and takes his arm off Monty, disappearing into the crowd.

“Clarke.” Monty shoots her a knowing glance. “We both know I’m not into Harper like that.”

“I know,” she says with a sigh. She wasn’t sure if he’d told anyone else besides her yet, and now she can conclude that Jasper definitely doesn’t know, which meant that probably no one else did either. It was rare for anyone to know something that was going on with Monty before Jasper knew, and when Monty first confided in her last spring break, she was shocked that he told her before he told Jasper. She can guess why, though. She lowers her voice. “Hey, what about Nate?”

Monty raises an eyebrow at her. “Miller? Outta my league.”

“Okay, you know what?” Clarke straightens up into her “mom about to give an inspiring pep talk” stance, placing her hands on her hips. “I’ve had it with all this talk about ‘leagues.’ You want someone, go and get them! Miller’s dad is friends with mine, okay? He’s been over a couple times to watch basketball with us and the Jahas. He’s really cool, and if he’s not interested, he won’t be a dick about it, I promise. Monty, don’t let fear of rejection stop you from saying what you want to say to people.”

“Miller’s not the one I’m into, Clarke.”

She knows that. She understands that. And she isn’t exactly talking about Miller, not exclusively. “Monty,” she says, taking him by the shoulders and looking him in the eye with that determined look in her eyes, “don’t let fear stop you from going after what you want. Don’t let anything stop you from saying what you need to say. Got it?”

He laughs, shrugging her off him. “Got it. Now quit trying to be my therapist and go have fun. It’s way too late for you to still be this sober.”

“Hey, it’s only the first day of break. Gotta pace myself. Besides, I’d like to be sober enough to send Wells a coherent text message when it’s time for him to pick us up.” Wells had taken off pretty early. He never stayed long at these parties.

“Okay,” Monty says, looking over Clarke’s shoulder at Jasper and the girl from before. “Well, Jasper’s talking to Fox; I’m gonna stay close by to make sure he doesn’t strike out too badly.”

Clarke grins. “Got it. I’m going to find Octavia. I doubt she’s stopped dancing since we got here.”

* * *

**Wells (12:49 AM):** Hey, so it’s getting kinda late

 **Clarke (12:53 AM):** Is not! Party’s barely started :)

 **Wells (12:53 AM):** Yeah ok. Point is, unless you wanna walk home, you should start rounding up your friends now.

 **Clarke (12:54 AM):** Party pooper :(

 **Wells (12:55 AM):** Yep, that’s my middle name, actually

 **Clarke (12:58 AM):** Ok, I’m gonna get Octavia and the guys, shoot me a text when you get here

* * *

Lexa loves winter more than any other season by far. She likes cold weather. She likes the night coming earlier. She likes warm sweaters and hot chocolate and—

_“Y’ALL READY TO GET FUCKED UP?!”_

She likes the peace and quiet.

Weather Beach is a small coastal town. Peaceful. Quaint. Just outside of Ocean City, so it has all the scenery with far less of the activity.

Except for fucking tourist season. A few decades back, some asshole decided it would be a good idea to build a bunch of fancy little summer homes along the shoreline for rich families to spend their vacations at. Because of that fuck-up, Weather Beach now attracts a whole slew of spoiled teenagers and their families crowding Lexa’s quiet little hometown every holiday during the warm months.

Spring break is by far the worst.

Who the hell decided it would be a good idea to dedicate a week-long holiday to high school and college kids getting fucked up on the beach, Lexa wonders, shutting her book and leaning her head back in exasperation.

Anya is working late and Lexa took the night off, thinking it would be a good opportunity to do some reading. She was wrong. And she should’ve known better, but she had forgotten that it was the first day of spring break, and therefore the explosive start to a non-stop, weeklong party outside her bedroom window.

Lexa huffs, pushing herself up from her position on her bed and setting her book down beside her and stomps over to open her window, sticking her head out and yelling, “Would you mind _keeping it the fuck down?!_ ”

Her demand falls on deaf ears as she knew it would, drowned out by some obnoxious LMFAO song blaring below that the drunk, spoiled, delinquent teenagers are dancing to.

She looks at her clock. 1:16 AM, it reads. She debates whether to wait for Anya to get home before she goes down and starts something, so that she’ll at least have backup. Then she decides she isn’t that patient.

She takes the steps down to the beach two at a time and makes a beeline for some poor soul who likely isn’t any more deserving of Lexa’s wrath than those around him, but it’s easier to take her rage out on a single person than to curse out everyone at the entire party. “Hey!” she shouts, grabbing the guy by the shoulders and spinning him around to face her.

He raises an eyebrow, bemused. “There something you need, queenie?”

“I need you and your friends to shut the fuck up so I can get some goddamn sleep!”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that. Not my party. Not my music. Run along, now, find someone else to scream at.”

She scans the crowd to see if there’s any sort of DJ controlling the music, but just sees an empty table with an iPod set to a Pandora station, hooked up to some absurdly loud speakers. She yanks the aux cord from the iPod, chucking the phone itself onto the sand at her feet. The noise dies down instantly. There’s a large crowd gathered around them at this point, staring at the two of them. Well, mostly staring at Lexa. “Show’s over, kids!” she yells out to the crowd. “Everyone get the hell off my beach!”

“Hey, what the fuck is wrong with you?” the guys demands, jerking her by the arm. “You fucking psycho townie!”

Lexa clenches her jaw, glaring up at him, and yanks her arm from his grip. “I will _show you_ psycho.”

* * *

Clarke has gathered her friends back together, and they, along with Miller, who Clarke is pleased to see has been hanging out with Monty all night, are now staring with awe at some incredibly angry— but also quite pretty— girl who has crashed the party, killed the sound, and is now cursing out John Murphy with vigor.

She’s awfully small and awfully gutsy to be picking this kind of fight. Her beef doesn’t seem to be solely with Murphy, but with the entire beach, and Clarke has to admire her balls, even if she did just ruin the spring break kickoff party. They were leaving soon anyway, so it’s not like the party being killed really mattered.

Whatever Murphy had said to the girl— Clarke’s hearing is a little shot due to dancing with Octavia near the speakers for the last hour— must have really pissed her off, because as soon as she’s finished verbally lashing out, she leans down, picks up a  nearby cooler— and this girl is surprisingly strong for someone of her size because she manages to lift what’s apparently a halfway full cooler nearly over her head without appearing to strain too much— and dumps its contents over Murphy. He makes a loud, high-pitched noise that Clarke can’t help but laugh at, and starts yelling various obscenities at the girl, who swiftly turns around and marches up the steps to the back deck of a house, disappearing into the house and slamming the door behind her.

The mood has been killed and people start murmuring and scattering, gathering their stuff and starting to leave. The guy who was in charge of music digs his phone out of the sand. Clarke checks her own phone and sees a text from Wells from a few minutes ago that she must have missed during all the excitement, and lets the rest of the gang know that he’s here and waiting for them. Monty waves goodbye to Miller as the four of them gather their shoes at the foot of the steps leading off the beach. They slowly make their way up, all of them ranging from buzzed to completely smashed. Luckily, Wells’s car is parked near the top of the stairs so they don’t have to do much more walking, and they all pile in.

“How was it, party animals?”

“It was fun. Like hella fun,” Clarke slurs. Wells laughs. Clarke only ever uses words like “hella” when she’s drunk.

“Some chick cursed out Murphy and dumped a cooler over his head,” Monty says, probably the most sober out of all of them besides Wells.

Wells laughs at that too. “He probably deserved it.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“So,” Octavia says, leaning her head up; she’s only a little bit tipsy, still sober enough to hopefully sneak back into the house without making too much noise or falling and breaking her neck, “whaddo y’all have planned for tomorrow?”

“Clarke’s dragging me to an art show,” Wells says. “You guys are welcome to join us.” He rarely ever sees this particular gang sober and in broad daylight.

Octavia perks up instantly. “Hell yeah, that sounds cool.”

“Yeahhhh iddoes!” Clarke giggles, pleased with herself. She rarely ever gets anyone as excited about these things as she is. She knows Wells really does find it interesting occasionally, but he’ll still tease her about it.

“What about you two?” Wells asks Monty and Jasper. “Interested?”

“Sure, it could be fun.” Monty is stuck sitting in the middle between Octavia and Jasper, and Jasper is leaned up against Monty’s shoulder, half-conscious. “What do you think, Jas?” He nudges Jasper with his shoulder. “Jasper?” Jasper grunts in reply. He’s drooling on Monty’s shirt. “If you guys are gonna be there, he’ll probably want to come, too.”

Clarke knows well enough that “everyone” most likely means “Octavia”. She turns on the radio to ease some tension and they spend the rest of the ride home singing along to “Chandelier” and “Uptown Funk” until it cuts to a commercial break. Wells turns the radio down as he pulls into their street. “Octavia, you gonna be okay getting into your house alone?” Wells asks.

She nods, pulling herself out of the car. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try not to kill myself climbing up the balcony. I only had a couple beers, and I probably burned them off dancing, anyway.”

Monty’s mother appears on the Greens’ front porch, yelling about how they’ve missed curfew by almost half an hour. Monty groans, grabbing a water bottle from under Clarke’s seat and dragging Jasper out of the car with him. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow if my mom doesn’t murder us tonight.”

Wells pulls into their driveway and gets out of the car, then offers to help Clarke up. “’M’fine, I can get in the house okay. Make sure O isn’t lying in’er backyard with a broken neck, or Blelmy’ll kill us.” Wells nods in response, tossing her the house keys.

She quickly finds out she was wrong about getting in the house by herself when faced with the task of unlocking the front door, because she drops the keys twice before even getting to it, and a few more times as she’s trying to get the key in the lock. Wells comes back to find her still struggling with it and sighs, unlocking it for for her and escorting her into the house. She nearly collapses on the couch to sleep there, but Wells pulls her up and drags her into her bedroom. Out of habit, Clarke moves to take off her bra before remembering that she’s wearing only a bikini top as a shirt, and unties that instead. She kicks off her shorts as well, and they pull off the shoes that she forgot to take off along the way. Changing into pajamas seems unnecessary, and so she snuggles under her blankets, nearly naked except for her underwear.

She smiles as she dozes off, mind drifting to the thought of the beautiful, angry girl who had ruined the party before falling asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on tumblr for fic updates on my sideblog (donsdisseminating) or follow me on my main (wonderfulgiantsinthesky). Anything related to this fic will be posted in the tumblr tags #clexa sbau and #spring break au


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